


The Curious Case of Timothy Drake

by Sleepyhollow_101



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alfred Pennyworth does not appreciate poor table manners, Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Gen, Tim Drake Gets a Hug, Tim Drake Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:20:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25851997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepyhollow_101/pseuds/Sleepyhollow_101
Summary: Bruce wants to give Tim affection. Affection causes Tim's brain to 404.Bruce is not known for backing down from a challenge.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 46
Kudos: 790
Collections: Tim Drake and Red Robin Stories





	The Curious Case of Timothy Drake

**Author's Note:**

> Hope everyone enjoys this fic! Constructive criticism is always welcome <3 Tim Drake is my favorite and he deserves all the love in the world so I'm giving it to him.
> 
> (I do not own any of these characters.)

Timothy Drake does not understand affection.

Bruce is painfully aware of this. He’d like to say he understands, but he doesn’t, not really. The thing is, Bruce understands affection in its many forms and is often its recipient. Granted, he always seems to respond the wrong way and as such has become extremely uncomfortable receiving affection. But at least he knows what it is, what it looks like.

Tim, though.

Tim’s brain is like an expertly-programmed computer. He’s a brilliant child – a brilliant little _shit,_ if Bruce is being honest – but it’s like the programmer left this one definition out of his head.

On Tim’s first birthday as Robin, after Bruce had finally given up trying to drive him away and had grudgingly accepted his presence, Bruce asked him what he’d like for his birthday.

Tim had given him a confused look. “I don’t need presents – I’m not a child.”

Maybe it should have been funny, the tiny 13-year-old boy who still wore Star Wars pajamas to bed proclaiming that he wasn’t a child anymore, but it didn’t make Bruce laugh. It just made his heart hurt.

He didn’t want to care. He’d choose not to, if he could. After Jason, he didn’t really want to care about anyone ever again. But Tim had wormed his way in somehow, snuggled up right next to his torn and bruised heart, and now…

Now, Bruce couldn’t stop thinking about Tim’s problem with affection.

If Bruce tried to buy him something, Tim would turn him down, primly informing Bruce that his allowance was more than sufficient to buy himself anything he might need. Whenever Bruce touched him – a pat on the shoulder, a ruffle to the hair on occasion – Tim would tense up and stare at him, eyes wide as if considering the possibility that Bruce had been replaced with a pod person. If Bruce suggested Tim take a night off patrol, go out and have fun like a normal kid, Tim thought it meant that Bruce felt he was falling short, somehow, that he’d failed.

The longer Tim stuck around, the clearer it became to Bruce that Tim had never really received affection. Certainly not by his parents. Bruce had become accustomed to a deep, smoldering hatred of Jack and Janet Drake that never quite abated.

And if Jack and Janet weren’t going to show Tim how valued and loved he was, well. Bruce supposed he was up for the job.

If he could figure out how the hell to do it, of course.

So began Operation: Shower Tim With Affection. At least, that’s what Dick had called it, when Bruce had told him that he was planning to systematically introduce Tim to more affection until he understood and was comfortable with receiving it. Dick had laughed so hard he fell off the chair in Bruce’s office and rolled around on the floor for about ten minutes.

“Just hug the kid a lot and tell him you love him,” said Dick as he wiped the tears from his grinning face. “He’ll figure it out eventually.”

Hnn. That might work for Dick – and that’s certainly the approach Dick was taking – but it was unlikely to work for Bruce. Bruce was an authority figure to Tim. He was Tim’s boss, in a way. He was the closest thing Tim had to a guardian, currently, and his previous experiences with guardians had led him to be wary of anything and everything. If Bruce told Tim he loved him, Tim wouldn’t believe him. The kid would probably lose sleep trying to figure out the double or triple meaning behind Bruce’s words, try to understand if it was a test or a scam or…

Bruce… didn’t really want to think about all the ways Tim would find to disbelieve him.

So, he needed a subtler approach. Something more methodical and measured.

One fine day in early June, Bruce put his plan into action.

* * *

_Step One_

It was the last day of school, meaning that school let out at 1:00, around the time Bruce would normally be up to his eyeballs in paperwork smattered with incomprehensible legal jargon.

Instead, he was idling outside Gotham Academy’s front doors, his shiny black Mercedes conspicuous even though it was one of his understated cars.

Tim, who was not expecting him, was caught with the students pouring out of the mouth of the school. He skid to a stop, eyes widening when he caught sight of Bruce’s car.

And was then promptly shoved forward by the chaotic mass of students. He let the momentum guide him to Bruce’s car, confusion and nerves writ clear on his face.

“Uh, Bruce? What are you doing here?”

“Picking you up from school. Get in.”

“Get – what?”

“I’m picking you up from school,” Bruce repeated.

Tim stood, staring at him for a moment, before gingerly reaching out to open the passenger-side door.

“Oookaaaay… you know I could have just taken the bus home, right?”

Bruce considered that as he pulled out of the parking lot. “I do. You’re not going home.”

That… came out more ominous than he meant it. Judging by the way Tim’s eyes widened – how did they get even _bigger?_ – Tim was getting the wrong message. “What happened? Is everyone okay? Is something –”

“Everything is fine,” said Bruce. “I just thought you might like to go out for ice cream.”

“Ice cream. You’re taking me out for ice cream.”

“Yes.”

Tim looked like he wanted to say something to that, but couldn’t find the words. Instead, he sat for a few moments, his thoughts clear on his face. Bruce waited for him to voice them.

“But why?”

Bruce turned into the Dairy Queen parking lot. “Because it’s the last day of school, and that deserves a celebration. Don’t you think?”

Tim looked down to where his hands were clasped firmly in his lap. “You don’t have to,” he mumbled.

“I know. I want to.”

Tim ducked his head, but Bruce could still see his lips curling into a smile.

Tim ordered a banana split, which Bruce came to learn was his usual order. Bruce himself wasn’t married to one sort of ice cream in particular, so that day he chose a Brownie Earthquake at random off the menu.

It felt a little awkward, at first, and Tim was clearly a little out of his element. Bruce amended that by intentionally smearing a dollop of ice cream on Tim’s nose, surprising a laugh out of him.

“That was uncalled for!”

Bruce just smiled as the tension leaked from Tim’s shoulders and he finally started to look like a normal kid.

* * *

_Step Two_

Since the Ice Cream Incident (which really sounded more ominous than it was, but Bruce had been calling it that to confuse and agitate Dick and it had been working beautifully), Tim had loosened up a little around him. _Just_ a little. At least there’d been some progress, although Tim still jumped sometimes when Bruce walked into the room.

Bruce didn’t like the implications of that. Something he’d have to investigate later, when Tim trusted him enough to tell him the truth.

But at that moment, he had a different objective. So as Tim sat at the breakfast table, his face nearly drooping into his first cup of coffee, Bruce cleared his throat until Tim looked up at him, eyes blinking blearily.

“Do you have any plans today?”

Tim shook his head, which is as good an answer as Bruce was likely to get that early in the morning.

“Good. I was wondering if you’d like to come into WE with me today.”

Tim didn’t respond, blinking down at his coffee as though if he looked long enough, it would reveal to him the secrets of the universe. Then, his head jerked up and his brain seemed to come online. “What was that?”

“Would you like to come into WE with me today?”

Tim’s mouth opened in a little O of surprise. Like this, early in the morning with mussed hair and shock on his face, he looked younger than 13.

“You want me to come to work with you?”

“Only if you want to,” said Bruce, suddenly aware that this may not be the fun activity he had hoped it would be. “I thought you may want to come see the R&D department. I could give you a tour. Of course, if you’d rather not…”

“No!” Tim practically shouted, jumping to his feet. Then, seemingly catching himself, he cleared his throat and sat back down. “I mean, I’d love to. Seriously, that would be… that would be _so cool._ ”

Bruce smiled a little. He had been practicing letting himself smile more – maybe that would make Tim relax a little more. It seemed to work, as Tim beamed at him in return. “Excellent. We’ll go in about half an hour.”

“Not so fast. You may both leave the house after you’ve eaten something for breakfast and not a moment before. Honestly, Master Bruce.”

Oops – he hadn’t even heard Alfred come in. He cleared his throat, trying to hide his chagrin. “Sorry, Alfred.”

Alfred shot him a look and Tim tried unsuccessfully to stifle a laugh. “I can have breakfast ready in half an hour’s time. Please do feel free to put on more respectable clothing in advance.”

Tim didn’t even try to hold back his laugh as Bruce looked down at his robe, then gave Alfred a look of betrayal. “Nothing wrong with my clothes,” he muttered, Tim’s giggles following him as he trudged up the stairs to change.

About one hour later, they arrived at WE, where Bruce proudly introduced Tim to everyone they passed. If anyone thought it strange that Bruce Wayne had taken Timothy Drake under his wing, nobody said anything. They made a beeline for the R&D department so Bruce could show Tim everything WE had been working on.

“We’re creating a respirator that should help with swimming underwater for long periods of time. It’s modeled to work like a fish’s gills, though we have some snags to work out. Currently, we’re building a digital twin of the product so we can do some virtual testing before we try to build anything.”

Tim was watching the screen in front of them with rapt fascination, staring at the makings of the digital model. His hands were twitching at his sides, like he was barely stopping himself from reaching out and fiddling with the specs.

Bruce paused in his explanation. “Would you like to try?”

Tim looked up at him in shock. “Try?”

“Adjusting the model. Here, I’ll show you the controls…”

A few moments later, Tim was happily seated and whirling away at the model, changing the intake capacity here, adjusting the curve there. As he worked, he walked through the changes he was making – _this component is so bulky, there’s too much material, it can be cut down while still functioning safely, don’t you think?_ Bruce, for his part, added his own commentary and pushed back on a few of Tim’s changes – _don’t you think you’re sacrificing functionality for design here?_ – just to listen to him vehemently defend his ideas.

Bruce had thought to take Tim around the rest of WE, show him his office, maybe introduce him to WE’s chief cybersecurity officer, but they were both enjoying themselves too much in the R&D department, and Bruce’s employees were certainly getting a kick out of Tim’s enthusiasm.

They spent most of the day there until Bruce pulled Tim away for a late lunch. Tim didn’t stop smiling the entire time, grilling Bruce on what other projects were in the pipeline and the implications for widespread implementation of the technology.

This day was supposed to be for Tim, but honestly? Bruce hadn’t had this much fun at work in a long time.

* * *

_Step Three_

Step Three was not part of the plan.

Well, it was – this was actually a four-step plan, to be clear – but the Step Three that Bruce planned and the Step Three that actually happened were very different.

It happened like this.

Tim had gone back to his house for a few nights. When his parents were gone, he split his time between Drake Manor and Wayne Manor. Bruce would have preferred that he stay at Wayne Manor full-time, but he couldn’t very well force him, and anyway, he wanted Tim to choose that for himself.

So when he said he was going back home for a little while and would be back in a few days, well, Bruce had thoughts about that, but he didn’t protest.

It had been a while since he’d chosen to go back to Drake Manor, though, so Bruce had some suspicion that something had been the catalyst. He wondered if he’d overstepped, somehow, and made Tim uncomfortable. There was no way to be sure without asking Tim, and Tim would never admit being uncomfortable with anything, so Bruce was, respectfully, shit out of luck in that department.

He tried to put it out of his mind – Tim would come back in a few days, as usual. But when Tim texted and told him that he wouldn’t be able to come on patrol that night, Bruce _may_ have panicked. Just a little tiny bit.

He couldn’t compartmentalize his worry for Tim, no matter how hard he tried. So that afternoon, after sending a few texts to Tim that went unanswered, Bruce found himself standing outside Drake Manor’s front door.

_I should give him space,_ he thought, right before knocking on the front door with absolutely no intention to give Tim space.

For a long time, nobody answered, and Bruce was seriously considering breaking in when, finally, he heard the sound of a lock disengaging.

Bruce’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest when he saw Tim standing there, wrapped up in a duvet that had clearly seen better days. His hair was plastered to his forehead and his skin looked paler than usual, which made the dark circles under his eyes stand out. His face was beaded with sweat and his eyes were glazed.

“You’re sick,” said Bruce, before Tim had a chance to say anything.

Tim’s shoulders sagged and he sighed. “Yeah.” God, even his voice sounded terrible, like someone had taken sandpaper to his throat.

Understanding dawned on Bruce. “This is why you went home.”

Tim shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with being caught out but unwilling to continue the lie. “I could feel it coming on and I didn’t want to be a bother.”

_You could never be a bother,_ Bruce thought. He wished he could say that out loud to the drooping boy in front of him, make him understand how not bothersome he was.

Ah, to hell with it.

“You’re not a bother. You’re never a bother, Tim.”

Tim sucked in a surprised breath, which unfortunately ended with a debilitating coughing fit. Bruce had to grab him by the shoulders so he wouldn’t tip over where he stood.

Bruce should be doing this more carefully, he didn’t want to scare Tim off or give Tim the wrong idea, he… he…

He threw his carefully-crafted plans out the window.

“Alright, here’s what we’re going to do,” he said, looking Tim in the eye and steadfastly ignoring the pang in his heart at Tim’s obvious misery. “I’m going to grab your things from where I assume you dumped them on the floor in your room. Then, I’m bringing you back home. You’re going to led Alfred make you soup, because Alfred makes wonderful soup and it’s good for the flu, which you obviously have. We’re going to sit on the couch in the media room and watch Star Wars. You’re going to let us take care of you. And you are _not_ a burden because we like having you around and…” He paused for a moment. Talking was hard. _Come on, Bruce, you can do this._ “And I’m proud to have you as my Robin.”

Tim stared at him, completely and utterly speechless. He was pretty sure this was the first time he’d made Tim speechless. That was a good thing, right? Maybe?

The silence stretched on until it was uncomfortable even for Bruce. Finally, he asked, “Are we clear?”

Tim nodded. Apparently, his powers of speech hadn’t returned yet.

Without further ado, he scooped Tim up in his arms. “Hey!” Tim squeaked, but subsided rather quickly and let Bruce carry him throughout the house. Bruce found Tim’s bag tossed haphazardly on his bedroom floor – _of course_ – and hoisted it over his shoulder before turning and leaving that cold, empty house behind.

Tim didn’t belong in that house, and he wasn’t going back there, not if Bruce had anything to say about it.

He wondered how hard the Drakes would fight him if he sued for custody. Not that he would do that without Tim’s approval. Probably. Jury was still out.

As promised, he Tim set up in the media room with a hot bowl of soup and an obscene amount of blankets. Star Wars was queued up on the absurdly large TV screen and he himself was settling in next to Tim, close enough to put his arm over Tim’s shoulders.

Tim was stiff for a moment, clearly unsure of himself, but holding that tension was too exhausting for him given his condition. He melted into Bruce’s side, and Bruce’s lips quirked in a smile.

About twenty minutes into _A New Hope,_ Tim finally spoke. “You said ‘home.’”

“I did.”

Tim shifted a little. “But it isn’t. My home, I mean. I don’t… I’m not…”

“Tim,” said Bruce, carding a hand through his hair. “You’re my Robin, and this is your home, for as long as you want it. You will _always_ be welcome here.”

Tim didn’t say anything to that – there was, after all, nothing more to say. Instead, he snuggled into Bruce’s side and was asleep in under five minutes.

And Bruce was left to watch the movie and muse about best laid plans.

* * *

Tim was seriously sick – think vomiting, high fevers, and chills sick – for the first three days. By day four, he was feeling substantially better, and he was nearly completely recovered by day six.

Through it all, Bruce didn’t leave Tim’s side.

When Tim slept fitfully in his bed, Bruce was keeping guard in a nearby armchair. When Tim was throwing up in the toilet (again and again and again), Bruce was holding back his hair. When Tim was burning hot and couldn’t get any relief, Bruce carried him down to the Cave and sat with him in the medbay until the cool air brought his temperature down.

Tim didn’t remember most of that time. He didn’t remember, in a fevered haze, asking Bruce when his parents were coming home, and why hadn’t they come to see him, didn’t they know he was sick? He didn’t remember bursting into tears after the fifth time he threw up, or Bruce holding him until he fell asleep again. He _definitely_ didn’t remember accidentally throwing up on Bruce’s shirt, thank God for small favors, Tim never would have gotten over the mortification.

Tim didn’t remember these things, but when he woke up, he somehow knew instinctively that Bruce would be there. And he was. Bruce was there like his parents never were, and like he was beginning to realize they never would be.

He felt closer to Bruce than ever before, and Bruce noticed. He noticed the way Tim softened in his presence – he smiled more, told jokes, allowed himself to take up space in a way he never had before.

And Bruce realized he didn’t need plans anymore. Because in spite of all Tim’s long history of parental neglect, in spite of Bruce’s grief and emotional illiteracy, somehow, the two of them had finally begun to understand each other.

* * *

_~~Step Four~~ _

As soon as Tim could stand up for more than ten minutes without passing out, Bruce was planning a trip to an upcoming photography exhibit.

When Tim was fully recovered, they made a day of it, spending hours touring the massive exhibit and unsurprisingly running into Selina on the way. She didn’t appear to be there for nefarious reasons (though Bruce _did_ keep a close eye on her) and was all-too-happy to talk about the artistic merit of the photos with Tim.

After the exhibit, Selina took her leave of them (and, somehow, so did Bruce’s watch – again) and Tim and Bruce went out for lunch at an undisturbed hole-in-the-wall burger joint a few blocks away. They took time to walk in the park afterwards, just enjoying each other’s company.

The afternoon wore on into the evening, and all too soon Bruce and Tim were walking through the Manor doors, happily exhausted.

“Are we patrolling tonight, B?”

“Hnn. We’ll patrol tomorrow. I don’t want you going out too soon after getting sick.”

Tim’s nose wrinkled. “You worry too much.”

“I worry the proper amount, thank you.”

Tim laughed, and then went quiet, staring at Bruce for a long moment before he gathered the courage to speak. “Hey, B, um… thanks. For everything. I… I, um…”

Tim floundered, shifting on his feet and looking almost sick with nerves. In response, Bruce leaned forward and captured him in a hug.

“I love you too, chum.”


End file.
